


each time, each time i will try to do better

by leviathanmouth



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, The Rogues As Family (The Flash), also my axel uses he/it prns king of being nonbinary, timeline is fucky bc comics r confusing but axel is 17 in this and its nebulously set post-reboot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathanmouth/pseuds/leviathanmouth
Summary: the third time axel fucks up a job, len takes him to get tested for adhd.
Relationships: Leonard Snart & Axel Walker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	each time, each time i will try to do better

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'take your medicine' by cloud cult

The third time Axel fucks up a job thanks to a half-baked impulse he doesn’t know better than to follow through with, Len takes him to get tested for ADHD. 

Its sitting in the back of their getaway van sullenly —ostensibly  _ not _ sulking, because anyone who implies that he is will get bitten—sunk low with its arms crossed, pointedly looking anywhere but the other Rogues. With the lack of windows this far back, doesn’t leave many places to look, so Axel focuses his gaze on his air-walkers. At least he has the whole back seat to himself, because Sam never rides with them. 

He was  _ supposed  _ to stay in the van, but then he had gotten it into his head about getting the drop on the Flash with his new antigrav shoes, and the next thing he knew he was already sliding the door open and booking it into the building. 

Flash’s shout of “TRICKSTER—” as it hurled itself backwards off the edge of the building had been funny, at least. Even funnier was the look on his face when instead of dropping down five stories and breaking every bone in his body, Trickster went  _ up _ , leaving a trail of glittering stars in his wake. Len bellowing “AXEL!” tinged with panic hadn’t been funny at all. Axel had sworn he’d told them about the air-walkers, but evidently his mind was back to making shit up. 

They all disperse to various corners of the safehouse when they get back, after a too long car ride full of tense silence. It reminds Axel of riding in the car with his parents after they fought. Every second of it makes his skin crawl and even though it’s basic instinct to try and crack the pressure with a joke, it bites its tongue. He makes a beeline to his room, looking forward to forgetting today’s events and burying himself in tinkering with his air-walkers, or even working on the in-progress hover board, but Len reaches out and snags him by the collar of his jacket. It makes a choking noise as it gets yanked back, and rubs his throat before giving him a dirty look. “Sheesh, man.” 

Len at least grimaces, and mumbles a quiet “sorry” before telling him to get changed into some real clothes and meet him back at the van. 

“Uh. Why?” Axel shifts from foot to foot nervously. 

“We’re going out,” he says simply, and then he turns and heads to his own room. 

Axel turns to ask the others what the fuck  _ that _ means, but none of them—not even Marco, who’s usually pretty tolerant of his shit—meet his eye. That makes his stomach churn in ways he doesn’t like to acknowledge, so he makes a tactical retreat and just does as Len told him to. Teenage rebellion is only tolerated until it isn’t, and he has enough self-awareness to know that he’s done enough today.

It helps Len with changing the plates on the van, and then it’s being chivvied along. One reminder to put the seatbelt on later, they’re off to wherever the fuck. 

The long, awkward car ride with a parental figure (although he’d die before admitting that out loud) is als familiar to Axel. It just stares out of the window and occasionally sneaks glances at Len, because he’s in casual clothes. Just jeans and a grey hoodie, but it’s  _ weird _ . Dude practically lives in that costume.  _ Must be as comfortable as mine _ , he thinks. He sits low in his seat, and doesn’t say anything for all of three minutes. But it’s not him who ends up breaking the stalemate. Len looks over at him, clears his throat, and says: “So, those shoes of yours.”

It spends the thirty minute drive talking about his shoes, hyperware of every second it’s speaking and every word coming from his mouth, hoping to god that he’d just  _ stop _ but not actually being able to help himself. Len, for his part, does actually look like he’s listening. He nods at the appropriate times, and even interjects with the occasional question or comment. Before he knows it, they’re pulling up along a street of brownstone townhouses. Len kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on,” is all he says. 

Len leads him around the corner of the last townhouse with a hand on the back of his neck like it’s an unruly kitten. There’s a side door, painted a fading yellow and behind a screen that’s seen better days, judging by the hole someone had punched through it. He reaches forward and rings the buzzer, still keeping one hand on Axel’s shoulder, like he thinks it’s going to run away. 

Which is a fair assumption. Had it not been for the Rogue’s strict “no killing” rule (especially extending to children), Axel would have thought he was about to get murdered. 

“Uh. Bossman? What are we . . . doing here?” 

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, there’s the sound of the door being unlocked, and it's pulled open to reveal a tall Chinese woman in a white coat. A stethoscope hangs around her neck. A  _ doctor? _ What the shit, man. 

The doctor’s name is Li Jian (Dr. Li, she corrects Axel, not Dr. Jian). She greets Len with distanced familiarity while leading them down a flight of stairs to a small, cramped basement office that resembles what Axel remembers of its old family doctor’s, way back when.

“So what seems to be the problem?” She asks, looking them both up and down. “Looks like you all got away unscathed earlier today.”

Len doesn’t even address that, and goes straight to the point. “I think the kid has ADHD.”

Dr. Li’s eyebrows raise just as it opens his mouth and exclaims, “I could’ve told you that!” Its tone is decidedly not petulant. 

He looks down at it, expression hard (though that does seem to just be his default look when it comes to Axel’s bullshit). “You could have?” He asks in a tone that demands an explanation. 

Axel squirms. “Well, yeah. I've known since I was like, sixteen, man. Took a bunch of those online tests, looked at symptoms ‘n shit. I just never . . . said anything about it. You guys didn’t exactly seem like the sharing type. And it’s not really something that comes up in a normal conversation? Like, oh hey guys, my brain’s wired backwards! Nice talk!”

“ _ Axel.” _

Len looks like he has more to say to that, but Dr. Li saves everyone and interrupts him. “Trickster, would you mind taking a few more of those tests again, but on paper this time?” 

It takes ten minutes to go through the checklists she gives him on a clipboard. It’s alone in the basement, because she’d taken Len back up the stairs to obviously talk about him. The floor is thin, but not thin enough that he can actually pick up words from the background noise of the conversation they’re having. At some point he stops filling in the little bubbles on the last checklist, engrossed instead in trying to figure out what they’re saying. 

“—case in point,” comes Dr. Li’s voice.

Jumping, Axel at least has the grace to look sheepish at being caught out. Dr. Li just looks amused however, while Len looks slightly constipated. She writes something down on a slip of paper and tells him to pay a visit to Parker’s on the way back, and then they’re off. 

“So,” Len says when they’re outside. “You already knew. Or had an idea.” 

Chewing on the side of its thumb, he nods. “Yeah. I, uh, tried to bring it up to my parents? Once. Didn’t really go so hot. Dad started yelling about . . . shit I can't really remember, mom said she didn’t want me on meds. So I kind of just ended up ignoring it? And I didn’t want it to be, y’know, a thing.” 

Len makes another one of his constipated faces and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Axel. If something’s going on with you, I want to know. Got it?”   
  
He nods. 

“Especially if it’s going to affect the team like it has been.”

“Sorry.”

He nods again, scuffing the front of one of his air-walkers against the pavement. Len sighs, and then he’s hooking an arm around its shoulder to crush Axel against his side. It’s brief, only lasting how long it takes for him to say, “I’m not angry at you. Just concerned.” 

Axel swallows, a little thickly. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“Okay,” nods Len, and then they’re walking to the van. On the way there he wraps an arm around its shoulder, and Axel beams. 


End file.
